


What Is Left Unsaid

by alittlelessdrama



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Character Study, Drama, Family, In which people ignore their problems, Spoilers for Episode 85
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-23
Updated: 2017-06-03
Packaged: 2018-10-22 21:35:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10705590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alittlelessdrama/pseuds/alittlelessdrama
Summary: i.e. in which Scanlan Shorthalt (in no particular order) finds a family, loses one, has a lot of conversations and thinks about his life.





	1. Reflections

He hates to admit it, but he barely remembers anything from before Vox Machina. Months are all blurred together, the songs he sang and the interchangeable hook-ups and the foggy conversations and the hungover mornings in someone else’s room all sliced and diced and mixed up in his head (The unseemly amount of alcohol he usually ingested probably doesn’t help). 

Only one scene really stands out to him, though he’s not entirely sure why. Once, after a particularly hard night at the tavern, he woke up in a gutter. He felt the cold breeze chill his inexplicably damp clothes, and he wondered somewhere in the back of his mind at how fast the seasons come and go. The bloated, too-humid summer had passed without his notice, and dead brown leaves drifted from their branches to catch in his messy hair. He had reached up at the grey sky, thought about his mother’s smile, and vomited hard onto the ground.

Scanlan thinks that it’s a pretty good metaphor for his life, honestly.

Of course, there was the band. Dr. Dranzel’s Spectacular Traveling Troupe. It was fun while it lasted; music was always the only thing Scanlan could really latch on to, could say for certain, yes, that’s who I am. And the gang was great, too. They shared a good rapport, most of the time, and they’d laugh and joke and share stories, and their performances would always be some of the best he’s ever done. He could lose himself in his flute, his voice, and the tides of melody that filled the air.

Members always came and went. It was a part of the job. People’ve got families to return to, responsibilities to fulfill. Or they got fed up, itching to find something more permanent than the trail of merriment and emptied wallets they left behind.

Scanlan’s last roots were cut when goblins struck down his mother. In that sense, the transitory lifestyle of the Troupe fit him like a glove. If he had wanted to, he could probably stay there forever, filling his days with song. But it all got too… predictable, in the end. When he found himself repeating jokes, when he would get a knowing smirk where he once got a laugh, when he could see the days blurring together while his words fell heavy and dull from his lips — when the fun came to an end, he knew it was time to go. He packed his stuff, said his goodbyes, and that was that. 

So back he was to drinking days, spending his time ensnaring men and women in his charm, occasionally singing familiar tunes for a few coins in his purse. He supposed it could have been worse, that the dreariness of it all was nothing compared to everything that came before. The heavy powerlessness that weighed his limbs, when he put up the grave marker and, dirt stuck under his fingernails, sat silent underneath the yellow evening sun. But that was a whole ‘nother train of thought, so when he found himself in that sort of thinking mood he shook the images from his head and stalked the red-light district for a good distraction.

* * *

Like the start of a bad joke, two half-elves and an armored bear walked into a bar. One almost slinked across the ground like a cat, one hand hidden in his long dark cloak, no doubt resting on the hilt of some weapon. The other, the one with feathers stuck into her thick black braided hair, moved across the tavern in long easy strides.

The bear somehow managed to push its way in through the wooden doors, grunting as it squeezed through the narrow opening. A few of the customers nearer to the door lean as far away as they could, eyes wide, taking in the sudden appearance of a hulking predator with very sharp teeth and very long claws.

The bemused barkeep tentatively approached the couple, taking care to avoid eye contact with the bear. As he kindly (nervously) asked what he could do for them, Scanlan — who had been watching the farce carry out from his little corner of the room — spotted the feathered one slide her best “charming” face on, giving the poor man her best wink and grin.

“Hello, darling,” she said, voice low and sultry and _wow, that was really sexy_. “Lovely to meet you. By any chance have you seen a human man around? Fairly tall, with short yellow hair? Might have had a shiny bracelet with a hell of a lot of rubies encrusted in it with him?”

The barkeep had no idea what she was talking about, but Scanlan did, if only because that bracelet was so damn distinctive. The prior night night he was stumbling around the block — still sober, he’ll have you know — swatting flies, thinking about how bloody _humid_ Stillben is when suddenly a man with a hood hiding his face shoved right past him, almost pushing him over onto the dirty road. Scanlan caught himself just in time in a surprisingly show of dexterity, and when he turned around the yell at the bastard he got a glimpse of that exact same bracelet, glittering like nobody's business, not suspicious or eye-catching at all. Then the man disappeared around the corner, and the bracelet along with it.

To this day, he isn’t entirely sure why he did what he did. Sure, he knew the info the lady wanted. But he didn’t have to say anything. He didn’t have to call them over with a wave and a smile. He certainly didn’t have to offer his assistance in helping them finish their quest. He likes to think that it’s just evidence of his upstanding morals, his desire to do good to as many people as he can. But he probably did it because he was horny. Seriously, he couldn’t have two beautiful half-elves come into his life and leave without an introduction. That would be a waste, that would.

Of course, things went to shit real quick, and what began as a simple manhunt very quickly devolved into several scuffles with gang members, ogres, a rabid owl bear and one very pissed off horse. By the end of it all they all were smarting, tending to their bruises and fractures, muttering obscenities all the way. 

Scanlan should’ve known right there and then that if he were smart, he would leave. It’s not as if he is fighter, anyway — he barely contributed much, all things considered, and he doubted that the twins would miss him very much if he decided to surrender to whatever was left of his survival instincts. He could leave, and he’d get back to his life, where he would only shit in his pants from alcohol-induced loss of bodily control, not from abject terror. 

But he ignored common sense, the street kid in him kicking and screaming the whole way, and he went over to where Vix or Vox or whatever his name was sitting to give him a healing potion that he’d managed to save in the chaos.

The half-elf looked up at him, a nasty cut oozing blood from under his right eye, surprise and wariness warring each other across his face. For some reason Scanlan recognized the expression, though he doubted that he had ever made it himself — he was always too good a liar to wear his emotions so openly. Maybe it was that weird moment of connection, or maybe it was something else, but he gave the kid a wink (which was nowhere near as good a wink as the ones the sister can do, but practice makes perfect) and said, “Oi, kid, you’d better check that eye out. You wouldn’t want to ruin that great face of yours, yeah?” 

He would be first to admit that that was definitely not one of his best lines. But apparently it worked, since the kid gave Scanlan a measured look and, after a moment of hesitation, took the potion with a small grunt and downed it in one gulp.

“So,” the kid said, wiping his mouth with his (dirty and bloody) sleeve. “Do you usually help out random strangers you meet in a bar? Like, is this your idea of a good time?”

“A good time?” he said, incredulously. “Is breaking into a guild, clawing your way out of a sea of angry guys with sharp pointy things and getting sat on by a horse not _your_ idea of a good time?”

“No,” he replied, the corner of his lip twitching. “That’s my idea of a fucking _terrible_ time, actually.”

Scanlan shrugged, grinning slightly. “Well, that makes two of us.” 

“ _Three_ of us,” the other one interjected, plopping down on the ground next to her brother. She yawned spectacularly. “That was _abhorrent._ Absolutely awful. I can’t wait until we drop this damn thing off to its rich asshole of an owner and get this job over with.”

The kid gave her a cheeky smirk. “What, you don’t want to keep it? It looks like it’d be worth a pretty penny.”

She elbowed him in his ribs, and as he curled up she said with a theatrical loftiness, “I do have morals, you know.” Her smile faded, and in a much more solemn voice added, “Besides, stealing isn’t what it’s cracked up to be. With our luck, someone’ll always be there to catch you, no matter how good you are at covering up your tracks.”

Something flashed across the kid’s face, but before Scanlan could identify it he turned away. A sudden silence hung in the air. Scanlan might be a fool, but he couldn't be called unobservant. There was a tension in that space between them, some sort of shared history that he had no context for.

He fidgeted in his spot.

“Anyway,” he said. “To get back to our topic of conversation… Do things usually end up like this for you two?”

The sister seemed to shake herself out of her memories and looked toward him. “Like what, exactly?” she asked.

“All fucked up in the arse?”

The kid let out a startled “ha!” that he turned into a cough. For her part, the sister rolled her eyes and hid a smile behind her hand. 

“Well,” she said, “we do seem to have the worst luck. Sorry about not warning you earlier.”

“Nah, it’s cool,” Scanlan said, though it definitely was not. “Absolutely cool. I mean, what’s a little heart-stopping terror now and then, eh?”

“Probably a couple of years off your lifespan,” the kid said, deadpan. “No, seriously though, now that you know the shit we get ourselves into, do you, I dunno…”

He glanced at his sister, who gave him a flat look. “It was your idea,” she said simply.

He scratched the back of his head. “I mean, we’re going to split the reward money among the three of us anyway — Vex, you agreed to this, don’t give me that look — so you don’t need to worry about that. But, Vex and I were talking, and you really saved our skins back there. It was… good. We still got fucked up, yeah, but we're a little less fucked up than we would have been without you. So, we could part ways, right now, with our reward money, and that'd be fine, but if you want to come along with us to get some more, that’d be fine too.

"What I'm trying to say is—" here he took a deep breath. "Would you like to come with us?"

Scanlan blinked, and then blinked some more, because that was definitely not what he was expecting. "Come with you?"

He nodded. "Yeah. For mercenary endeavors and so forth."

"It's your choice, of course," the sister said, looking at her nails. "Personally, I'd rather keep all the gold for myself, but I won't deny that you know some really useful magic."

"So," the kid said, "...what do you say?"

Later — after he said yes, after they'd all ran together into trouble after trouble — Vex had come up to him and said, “You know, you never really answered my brother’s question.”

And Scanlan had no idea what was going on, because at this point he’d completely forgotten about their little conversation. Plus, though Vex was one hot lady they were never really all that close and personal with each other. “Right. Okay. What question are we talking about again?”

She sighed. “Why did you decide to come along? I mean, no offense, but most smart and capable people would’ve hightailed it after something like our first job together.” 

Scanlan raised an eyebrow (or he would have, if he knew how to do that. He settled with raising both instead). “Did you just call me smart and capable?”

“I mean, yes, actually.” She’d given him a small smile. “I know, and I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I know that you’re better than you act. Thanks for the save earlier, by the way. I would have probably been dead without it.”

“Well. It was nothing. I still have no idea what this has to do with anything.”

He remembers her dark eyes gazing at him like he was a target for one of her arrows. “You changed the topic of the conversation, that time with the stolen bracelet. Or you were beginning to, anyway. My brother asked you why you came along. Back then, I felt like you didn’t want to talk about it, and that was fine. We’d just met, but you fighting for our lives together a pretty fast way of building trust. But we’ve been working together for a while now, and with all these new people’ve come into our lives, I was curious if you feel comfortable enough now to tell me. It’s not a big deal if you aren’t. I was just wondering.”

Everybody in Vox Machina had things they wanted to leave behind. Because of that, most of them were pretty okay with letting buried stuff stay buried. Scanlan appreciated it, he really did, since he dealt with most things by not thinking about them, which is a lot easier when they aren’t bare-ass naked out in the open.  

Sometimes, though, he wished they’d dug a bit deeper.

“I dunno,” he’d answered. “I honestly don’t. At the moment, I’m blaming it on the coin.”

“The coin," she repeated.

“Surely you, out of all people, would understand. As you well know, I have a lovely tenor voice that can croon the sweetest of melodies — alas, music is not a secure source of income.”

Her laugh was half-incredulous, half-amused, and perhaps a touch disappointed. “Alright, Scanlan. Whatever you say. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Vex. And tell your asshole brother to keep his hands off the merchandise!”

“I have no idea what that means, but I’m going to assume that’s some sort of weird inside joke.”

“You have no idea.”

“Ergh stop. Just stop”

And that was that.

* * *

Scanlan wasn’t lying. He really wasn’t. He’d been on the streets long enough to recognize money for the privilege it is. Maybe it really _was_ the gold that brought him back, again and again, to put his life and his manhood and his pride on the line. It might have been a factor, at least. Maybe he was simply bored, fed up with the repetition, and wanted some fun back in his life.

Or maybe when he first listened to the twins’ banter and fond exasperation and warm love for each other, he remembered — and he hates thinking about it, but still — he remembered his mother’s arms holding him tight and felt a tug of longing in his heart.

Or maybe he was just tired. Tired of the emptiness that trailed his every word and waking thought. He needed to fill it up. Even if it was with two strangers with long dark hair and sharp wary eyes.

He doesn’t know. As he plays his music with his daughter, trying to make up for far too many missed years, he closes his eyes and figures that he’ll never know for sure.

 


	2. Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Tweaking canon a bit here.

Scanlan really doesn’t want to think about Vox Machina. It’s like he’s betraying Kaylie when he does. Like having sex with someone while thinking about a completely different person.

(No, stop right there, Scanlan Shorthalt. That’s a terrible example. That is disgusting and creepy and you should be ashamed of yourself. Ugh.)

Anyway. He’d been with them for over three years now, and now that he’s not it’s as if his world has been set off-kilter. It’s just plain weird to be out of a group again. He’s forgotten about how _awkward_ it can be. He and Kaylie spent the first couple days skirting around each other, trying to figure out what they could say, what they _should_ say. Usually, he could defuse a situation with a well-timed joke, but this is his daughter, and he doesn’t want to mess this up. He doesn’t want to embarrass her, and honestly, most of his jokes are pretty embarrassing.

So yes, he often catches himself spending time in S.H.I.T.s memory land. He’d rather forget about most of it, especially the recent stuff. But he’s never been very good at the forgetting business, whether he likes it or not.

* * *

The close-calls and ruined plans and the terrorizing children and old people and the getting banned from shops filled his days with a wonderful chaotic unpredictability that he embraced for all it was worth. He hadn’t realized how much he missed the traveling lifestyle, the meeting people and the getting into trouble, the always looking ahead to the next day’s journey. He’d picked up a lot of things in his travels with the Troupe and it was satisfying to put that knowledge to good use. His mind felt sharper and clearer than it has ever been for years. The words would flow like water from his lips, arcane energy weaved into a spell, before cathartic, satisfying release. 

He hadn’t had so much fun in his life.

On their many (mis)adventures, they had managed to pick up quite a collection of eccentric individuals. They’d met once for the same job, and since then they kept bumping into each other. Eventually they all agreed (despite Vex’s reluctance) if they were fated to meet constantly anyway, it’d be convenient for all of them to band together for jobs and such. At some point, what began as a professional relationship developed into a personal one, and more and more Scanlan found himself around a table with these people, eating a meal after a hard day’s work. They’d squabble and compete and annoy the hell out of each other, and they’d go to sleep with the warm bubbling conversation and laughter still glowing around them. 

Scanlan would watch them all. He’d take in their habits, their mannerisms, when they laugh or smile. Figuring out what he should say, how he should say it; testing out new relationships and dynamics.

Whenever they had a breather and got a bit of a rest, they had a particular seating arrangement that they usually fell into. The twins always sat together, so that they could whisper to each other and laugh at some private observation or inside joke. Scanlan almost always sat by Vax, mostly out of habit — they’d been working together of months by then — but also because he was a watcher too, and sometimes Scanlan would try following his gaze to see if he sees what Vax sees. 

Grog sat next to Vex, though gods only knew why. He and her brother would snipe at each other over her head, much to her annoyance — more than once, she had slapped them hard on the shoulder, fed up with their antics. Vax would shrink away from her, smirking wildly even as he complained about the injustice, while Grog would give a big goofy grin.

She and the goliath got along surprisingly well, all things considered. Sometimes she would whisper into his ear, and he would laugh uproariously and slap his knee with a wide grin. Vax would almost always roll his eyes at the display, and Keyleth would often jump at the sudden loud noise, but Scanlan wasn’t going to lie, it was pretty cute. 

Speaking of Keyleth, she would sit as close to them as possible, sometimes almost on top of them but not quite, as if she were holding herself back. In hindsight, she was probably unsure of the boundaries quite yet, not yet sure how much touch was acceptable. She was fine with Tiberius, though. He was a bit oblivious himself, so maybe she’d realized that she could relax around him. Or maybe there was something about the dragonborn that made her feel comfortable, despite the color of his scales.

Tiberius. He doesn’t think about Tiberius much. He tries not to. He tries not to think of any of them, really, but Tiberius especially. When he does, though, when he does think of him, he remembers yellow, roving eyes and a perpetually swishing tail, a restlessness communicated through every inch of his frame. He would usually sit near the edge of their little group, reading a book or perusing through scrolls as he popped food into his mouth. He’d contribute his part and more during planning, and he was perfectly sociable when he wanted to be. But Scanlan got the impression that he’d much rather be with his books, or blasting monsters with powerful spells, than be feasting with them around a table. 

Scanlan never minded. Tiberius was warm, and he could be kind, and he was the one who suggested that they should come up with a name. 

“Since it seems that we will continue working together, I think it only natural to find something to call ourselves,” he said, munching on some chicken.

“‘Call ourselves?’” Scanlan repeated, frowning. “Why do we need to call ourselves anything?”

“Well, we are a proper group now, yes?” Tiberius said. “We are partners. Comrades-in-arms.”

“Friends!” Keyleth added, then immediately looked abashed. “…right? We’re friends, right?”

“Indeed!” Tiberius rumble-laughed. “Friends!”  

“Well, I wouldn’t go that far,” Vax demurred, though quietly enough so that only Scanlan and Vex could hear him.

Vex gave her brother a disapproving look before turning to the others. “I agree with Tiberius,” she said. “A group name would be convenient, especially if we want to get hired. It’d be easier for people to remember if they could call us something. If they can call us something, then it might be easier for them to remember us, and maybe refer us to other people.”

“Alright, alright, keep your hair on,” Scanlan said, raising his hands in the air. “I don’t actually have a problem with the idea. Does anyone have any suggestions?”

Grog slammed his hands on the table, making Vax almost topple over. “Oo, oo, oo! We can like, make this really cool badass name that scares people proper, right? Like, I dunno, ‘Ripping Corpse.’ Or, or, ‘the Skull Crushers!’”

“No offense, Grog,” Vax said, sounding rather unapologetic, “but other than you none of us really look like a Skull Crusher.” He glanced pointedly at Scanlan at the comment, who puffed up his chest as if he was offended.

“Oi, mate, I’ll have you know that I have crushed many a skull in my lifetime.”

“Right,” Vex said, unimpressed. “Anyone else have better ideas?”

Grog sunk a little, a child’s sad frown on his face. Scanlan out of pity gave him a sympathetic shrug.

They went on like that for a while, as they tended to do. Eventually Scanlan got bored and started  scratching lewd pictures into the table. They were pretty rough, but considering that he was literally carving them out with his fingernail on wood, he was pretty proud of his work. At some point Vax noticed his concentration and looked over, then snorted and shook his head.

 Scanlan grinned. Vax scowled at him playfully.

“How about ‘Trinket and Friends’,” Vax suggested, specifically at him. Vex almost squealed.

“That’s an amazing name!” she said, eyes almost popping stars. Vax rolled his eyes and gave his sister a playful nudge.

“We are not naming ourselves after that thing,” Scanlan said, shaking his head. 

“He’s a bear, not a thing,” Vex snapped, “and, last I remember, he dealt a lot of damage on that guy we fought today. Unlike a certain _someone_ I know.”

Scanlan crossed his arms, unruffled. “Was that before or after we spent most of our potions keeping it alive?”

“Anyway,” Vax said, probably realizing that Vex would murder someone very soon, “let’s get back on topic.”

“What was the topic again?” Grog asked.

“On names,” Tiberius said, who was back to his scroll.

“Names?”

“Group names.”

“Oh. Right.”

“Yeah, Scanlan,” Vex said, glaring. “Contribute to the group discussion.”

“I have a perfectly good name!” he said, the idea already forming in his head. 

“Oh? And what’s that?”

“We should be called,” he paused for dramatic effect. “…The Super High Intensity Team!”

“What,” Grog said.

“Sounds like SWAT Team,” Keyleth said.

“A what?” Grog asked.

“Like a team for swatting flies,” Tiberius helpfully explained.

“Oh,” Grog said, nodding. “…I don’t get it.”

“Don’t worry,” Vex said, “I don’t get it either.”

Scanlan gave a little fancy bow. “The ’S.H.I.T.s,’ for short.”

Vax, who up until then was controlling himself rather well, broke into peals of silent laughter. Keyleth laughed with him, slapping herself in the face as she got it. Vex let out a giggly snort then looked immediately furious at herself. Tiberius read his scroll. Grog continued to look confused.

“Why would be a super high team be shitty?” he asked.

“Aw, darling,” Vex said, patting his huge bicep, “Don’t worry about it. It was just a pathetic attempt at humor.”

“I have an excellent sense of humor,” Scanlan said. “I’m still waiting for you lot to come up with something better.”

“ _Everything_ we’ve suggested so far is better,” she said.

“No, no,” Vax said breathlessly, “I think it really fits us, don’t you?”

“I am going to hit you,” she said, raising an arm threateningly.

Keyleth grinned uncertainly. “I mean, the name's not that bad.”

“Oh, not you too.”

“I mean,” she stuttered, hands flailing, “His idea was probably better than mine? At least it’s creative?”

“Gods no,” Vex said, grabbing her mug and taking a huge swig. “Darling, you really need to have more faith in yourself.”

“Hey,” Scanlan said, “if we keep drinking, maybe we’ll magically come up with a super awesome name.”

Keyleth frowned. “I really don’t think alcohol works like that,” she said.

“Actually,” Tiberius said, “I have read that some artists take drugs of all sorts for inspiration.”

“See!” Scanlan gestured toward the dragonborn. “What’d I tell you? Being under the influence gets the creative juices flowing. Trust me, I’m a musician.”

“A musician who doesn’t even write his own songs,” Vax said. 

“I may sometimes use the music of others, but my lyrics are mine alone!”

“Okay,” Vex interrupted, “I think we’re getting off-topic. Again.”

“Yes, but clearly we are not going to get any better than the S.H.I.T.s.”

“Scanlan, we are not naming ourselves an obscenity.”

“Think about it, it’s _perfect._ ”

“Oh my god.” Vex finished her drink and slammed it on the table. “Another one here, please!” she yelled, before pinching the bridge of her nose.

In the end, they all stumbled back to their inn, completely drunk (except Tiberius), having accomplished exactly nothing. By the next morning their heads all pounded like owlbears were bashing them over and over again, and they sniped and hissed at each other. Yet they somehow managed to get to their destination, where they were supposed to get their next assignment.

A human woman was sucking on her pointer finger nervously, eyes darting around. Spotting them, she turned so that they faced her side, and she somehow managed to curl up into herself even more.

“A-are you..?” she asked, hesitantly, and Scanlan saw his chance.

“We’re the Super High Intensity Team!” he said cheerfully, somehow ignoring the harsh throb in his temples from his sudden volume. “Also known as the S.H.I.T.s.”

The people around him all groaned collectively, though he couldn’t quite tell if it was what he said or the hangovers. Either way, nobody bothered to complain.

* * *

At some point, probably around the time they saved the Sovereign, they stopped being “The S.H.I.T.s, totally capable mercenary group who _definitely_ know what they’re doing” and became (after Vex’s insistence) “Vox Machina,” which sounded much more official and cool than its actual members could ever be. The new name was weird and it didn’t fit him properly. It felt too large, like it’d slip off him at any moment. But if he had to go half-naked, he’d go half-naked, so he shrugged and let them keep their weird name in a language none of them knew.

The name only got larger, though, as their reputation grew, and soon he found himself thrown into fights with killer packs of goliaths and pant-shittingly terrifying gigantic dragons. That was when the fun died.

So he’s glad he’d left. He’s a pretty short guy, since he’s a gnome and all, and he doesn’t want to get swept up in things that are much too big for him. Let the others risk their lives and get themselves into some impossible shit and somehow save the continent like the big friggin’ heroes they are. He’d rather stay out of it. There’s not much a guy like him can do against gods, anyway.

He doesn’t regret leaving. Not one bit.

* * *

Kaylie’s gone out to town, and Scanlan lets her have her alone time. They’d gotten a bit better with the whole talking thing recently, and there are even moments where they almost feel close, like an actual father and daughter. At least, what he assumes an actual father and daughter relationship is like. He doesn’t actually have much experience in that area.

It’s still pretty awkward though, so he can completely understands the need to be away for a while. 

Unfortunately, he has this habit of not thinking things through, especially when it comes to Kaylie, so he’d sent her off to the nearby town, making her promise to come meet him at the designated spot before sundown (she’d rolled her eyes at that) and then stood there for a bit, realizing that he had nothing to do.

That’s how he got here, sitting on the ground at the edge of the woods, watching people bustle by and give him weird stares while he whistled a jaunty tune he’d picked up somewhere in the east. 

He could probably put on a performance with his flute. He’d be able to get a few coins, then a few drinks. Or he could use the money to get potions or something useful like that. He’s sure that Kaylie’d appreciate it. Or maybe she wouldn’t. He’s not sure. He hopes that she would. But if she doesn’t that’s okay too.

Anyway. Flute sounds good. Distraction is what he needs. He opens the flap of his bag and starts digging around, sifting through random paper and potions and empty bottles and his various tricky toys. He finds his flute and pulls it out of the mess, and something falls out with it. 

It’s small, and Scanlan picks it up, turns it over in his hands. The figurine of Pike that he’d carved years ago is a bit more worn down than he remembers, but the features that he’d spent weeks perfecting are still clearly visible, even if it was only bore a passing resemblance to her true beauty. 

He finds himself smiling, and he rubs the back of his hand over his mouth a few times to get it off. 

* * *

This is what he tells himself:

He’d fallen in love with Pike as soon as he met her.

Honestly, he wasn’t expecting the lovely, kind, smart, fierce cleric to be their goliath’s best friend. He was pretty sure that none of their group was, judging by Vax’s raised eyebrows and Keyleth’s open mouth when she’d first introduced herself. Not to beat on Grog or anything, but they were opposites in almost every way imaginable. 

“That’s why we get along so well,” Pike had said. “And Grog is a very nice guy, once you get to know him.”

Technically, they had — they were all upset when Grog left for Westruun for some unknown reason, and when they discovered that he was missing Keyleth anxiously pulled at her hair and Vex had bit her bottom lip. Even Tiberius looked concerned. Scanlan wasn't sure that he’d call the goliath “a very nice guy,” but he was a part of the group.

“If he’s in trouble, we have to help,” Vex had told her. Pike, in return, had given them all a teary smile and said earnestly, “Thank you.”

Of course, they weren’t expecting her to come along with them. But she insisted, eyes blazing, morningstar resting on her armored shoulder, and they hadn’t had the heart to say no to that. 

Every single part of her was amazing. She was so amazing that everyone adopted her almost immediately. The twins would hover protectively over her when they’d run into trouble and Keyleth would elbow her softly with her awkward angles and loopy grins in response to a joke and even Tiberius would give her large fond smiles. When they’d found Grog again and took care of _that_ mess with the mind-reading and the mage (well, most of it), he’d basically swallowed her up in a big bone-crushing hug, and she’d given a necessarily smaller, cuter one in return. 

Pike was lovely and deserved the best of things. He’s pretty sure, looking back at it, that he was definitely not one of those things. But a lover can dream.

* * *

Percy’s hands were trembling. They were nice hands, all things considered — small, with pale papery skin, fingers almost like twigs. If he’d looked more carefully he would’ve been able to see the calluses in his palms, built up over nights in makeshift workshops as he tinkered and molded metal and fire. When he made things his hands were held almost unnaturally still, poised and refined like the sharply accented voice he put on when dealing with other people.

Back then, though, back when they first met, his hands were shaking as if he couldn’t hold them up. There was a dull sheen over his eyes, and Keyleth almost had to prop him up to keep him standing.

“Hi, guys,” she said when she saw them, softer than he’d ever heard her be before. “This is Percy. Percy, these are my friends. They’re cool.”

Vax stood tense next to her, clearly discontent, but at least he wasn’t gripping his newly-reunited dagger. Vex glanced between her brother, the druid and the man, her face a mask, and Scanlan could almost see the calculations running in her head.

“You guys staged a prison break?” Scanlan asked, not waiting for Vex to make a response.

“Um,” Keyleth said. “Yes? We had to get Vax anyway, and Percy’s a good guy.”

Scanlan wasn’t sure how she could tell how a clearly traumatized stranger was a “good guy,” but it was Keyleth. She’d probably adopt a black dragon if it looked sad enough.

Grog crossed his arms. “Is he coming with us, then?” he asked.

“Yes,” Keyleth said firmly. 

Pike walked up to the guy, cautiously, like walking up to a startled animal. “Hi,” she said. “I’m Pike. I’m a cleric, so, um, if you want, I could help you. I can heal wounds, or exhaustion, or anything, really. Almost anything.”

His eyes flicked over to her. After a long moment he sighed, and gently pushed himself off of Keyleth. “Thank you,” he said to her, weakly, before turning to Pike. 

“I will be fine,” he told her, more steadily. “I will be fine, but I need my supplies.

“Oh,” Pike said, before taking a deep breath. “…Okay. We can get your stuff, but afterward I want you to tell me where it hurts, alright?”

Percy blinked, taken aback, then rubbed his eyes behind his glasses. “…Alright,” he said, quietly. 

Pike nodded, hands on her hips. “Good,” she said, and she went over and grabbed his thin pale hand. “Now let’s go.” 

That was how Pike and a very confused Percy walked through the prison holding hands like two little girls skipping on a warm spring day. 

“She is so sweet,” Vex finally said, half-whispering, half-squeeing. Nobody disagreed. Least of all him.

* * *

 When Pike and Percy entered the picture, things shifted a bit sideways. It was pretty fun to watch, honestly. Grog sat next to Pike now, and he’d actually try to behave himself. Vax too. He and Grog both stopped actively antagonizing each other around her, probably in fear of her killer unamused look. It was like she was their walking talking beautiful conscience. Or mother, maybe. One or the other. At the very least, Scanlan could tell Vex was very pleased with this development, judging by the relieved smirk and wink she’d give Pike every time she managed to defuse one of their petty arguments and roughhousing. 

Actually, Vex had loosened up considerably after Pike joined. She joked around a whole lot more, revealing a surprisingly lewd sense of humor that he could get behind. Scanlan had a feeling it was because she didn’t need to put up a “responsible one” front anymore, now that someone actually responsible was in the picture. Whatever it was, she laughed more, and that was fine by him.

Keyleth and Tiberius were still Keyleth and Tiberius, though their more awkward tendencies had rounded out a bit. Maybe it was Pike’s influence, who knew. If she could make Grog cool down, she could make two socially oblivious children-like people become less socially oblivious. Keyleth started hugging all of them a lot more, even in situations which didn’t need hugs, which was weird at first but they all eventually figured out that it was a natural extension of her need to express herself through physical contact. 

As for Tiberius, he was still a bookworm, but occasionally during meals when Tiberius got too caught up in his reading Pike would slap his taloned hands and say, “No scrolls at the table.” Tiberius would sputter indignantly but grudgingly put them away anyway. 

So yes. Definitely a mother.

Percy made less waves, at least at first. Like Tiberius, he’d preferred staying at the edge of conversation. Unlike Tiberius, he wasn’t distracted with the promise of knowledge, though he did spent an inordinate amount of time tinkering with scraps to make something surprisingly complex and practical. He and Tiberius sometimes conversed together, off in their little world, talking about ideas for equipment or weapon augmentations or whatever, and the rest of them let them be. Tiberius’s whisper earrings had certainly come in handy, so whatever nerdy nerd thing they want to do let them do it (so said Vax). 

But most of the time, Percy would just watch them. His eyes would flicker across all of their faces, following conversations as they bounced back and forth. Occasionally he’d crack a smile, though usually it was only a crack, and a brittle one at that. He was quiet, and almost unsettling in a way that was difficult to pin down.

Yet despite all that, he’d managed to strike up a rather affectionate friendship with Keyleth. She’d taken the habit of almost draping herself around him, clutching his arm while resting her head on his shoulder, and Percy, despite his usual aversion to human contact, would let her. He’d even give her a fond glance or a soft, non-broken smile once in a while. It was a strange dynamic, but then again, they were a strange bunch. If they were drawn to each other for some unknown reason, who was he to question it?

* * *

One night when they were out camping in the woods, Scanlan got up from his very wonderful sleep to take a piss. He yawned, rubbing his bleary eyes, stumbled through the dark and froze when he saw the backs of Keyleth and Percy talking to each other is hushed whispers near the edge of their little circle.

They hadn't noticed him. He couldn't hear what they were talking about. Theoretically he could try steal thing up there to eavesdrop, but before he could decide Keyleth let out a quiet sigh and rested her head on his shoulder. Percy stiffened at the touch, then relaxed. At the angle he was in Scanlan could make out a small lift to his lips as he looked down at the druid, her antlers almost poking him in the eye.

Scanlan took a piss in the bushes and went back to bed. He didn't want to disturb their little moment.

* * *

Eventually, after a couple more scrapes and close-calls, they’d managed to scrounge up enough money to rent a dingy little place to stay in when they weren’t wandering around killing things. That was when Scanlan decided: 

They really needed to talk about Percy.

No, he didn’t have a problem with the guy. He liked him well enough. Sure, he wasn’t much of a talker, but it’s not like they needed another loudmouth in the party. And he wasn’t completely repressed: a bit of dry humor would sneak out when you least expected it. Recently, though, he’d taken to locking himself away in his makeshift workshop all night, or restlessly wandering around the city when they didn’t have a job to do. It was like he couldn’t sit still, constantly distracted by noise only he could hear.

There was something _weird_ going on. 

“You know what I’m saying?” he whisper-shouted over the table.

“Hm,” Tiberius said. “Not especially, no.”

Scanlan sighed, frustrated. “We don’t know _anything_ about him. We found him in a prison cell. For attempted murder, apparently! And he has these weird killing machines that he says he built himself? Why? I don’t think Percy is even his real name.”

Keyleth gave him a disapproving glare. “Why would Percy not be his real name?” she asked, rather forcefully.

“I dunno!” Scanlan said, throwing up his hands. “That’s the problem! Look, I’m pretty much an expert at deception, it’s my thing. And, as an expert, I can tell that he’s hiding something.” 

“Okay,” Vex said, “This might sound off-topic, but it’s been bothering me for a while. We can all tell he’s rich, right?”

“What?” Grog said. “How do you know that?”

“Oh come on!” she exclaimed. “That posh way he struts around when he’s in a mood, or that passive-aggressive politeness, or that _accent._ He’s either rich or his family is.”

“That’d explain why he didn’t tell us his real name,” Vax added. “Poncy names sound poncy. But if he’s (a money boy), why haven’t his connections contacted him by now?”

“You know what,” Keyleth interjected, “It’s very rude to talk behind somebody’s back. What if he doesn’t want to talk about it? What if he has, like, a bad history with them or something? None of you would’ve wanted the rest of us to dig, like, some really bad shit up from your pasts, about your terrible dad or whatever, so I don’t know why you’re targeting Percy like this. 

“Okay, guys, let’s calm down,” Pike said, just as Vax opened his mouth to respond. “Yeah, there are a lot of things about Percy that we don’t know. Arguing about it here won’t help. If we really want to know, we can ask him.”

 They all looked at each other.

 “Well,” Grog said, “we could do that, but that would be awkward.”

 “Urgh,” Keyleth said. “This conversation is already awkward.”

 “Alright, then.” Vex stood up. “If we put this off for any longer, we’re probably going to blow up and be completely unreasonable. Let’s get this over with.”

“What are you going to do?” Vax asked warily. 

“I am going to drag that man out of his room and get him to actually talk to us.”

 A few minutes later, Vex had Percy by the arm and was pulling him toward the table.

 “Um,” Percy said, as he sat down. “I have no idea what is going on.”

 “I’ll go first,” Vax said. He scratched the back of his neck.

“Listen, man,” he said. “We know you have some kind of past. You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. Hell, I don’t really want to hear about it. But we’re working together now, yeah? So a little bit of honesty might do a lot of good. ”

 Percy’s eyes narrowed behind his gold-rimmed glasses. “I’m… still not entirely sure where this conversation is headed,” he said, “but I don’t like it.”

“We know you’re from a rich background,” Vex said. “You keep dropping hints left and right. We don’t care."

Grog furrowed his brows. She caught his expression and impatiently waved a hand in front of her. “Okay, that’s a lie. I care, because money is the love of my life. But, darling, the point is that you’ve clearly got something on your mind.”

“And?” Percy said shortly, then sighed and rubbed his face a few times. “Sorry, sorry, that didn’t— that wasn’t— I didn’t mean for it to come out like that.”

 “It’s alright, Percy,” Keyleth said, getting out of her seat and placing her hands on his shoulders. 

 “Sorry,” Percy said once more. “It’s nothing, really. I just haven’t been getting much sleep recently, and so I’ve been a little, well… cranky, I suppose.”

That was such a Percy thing to do, wasn’t it? Rationalizing everything. Rationalizing himself. In his early days he’d managed to strike this strange balance between honesty and omission, a tightrope of between expression and repression that was fascinating to watch, especially since Scanlan was sure that the process was mostly subconscious. A coping mechanism of sorts.

 (The behavior was probably a little more familiar than he’d like to admit. but that was nothing new)

 “‘Not getting much sleep?’” Scanlan repeated. “I’m surprised you’re getting any at all, considering how busy you’ve been.”

 Percy chuckled nervously. “Ah, yes, well. Sometimes I get a bit… driven, you might say. It comes and goes.”

 “That sounds healthy,” Vax said drily.

“Absolutely,” Tiberius rumbled. “Though the lack of eating may prove a problem.”

 “C’mon, guys,” Keyleth said. She hesitated, then, turning to Percy: “You don’t have to talk about anything you don’t want to. But if there’s something bothering you… we’re here for you.”

 Percy sat there for a bit, blinking rapidly, hands covering the bottom half of his face. Scanlan exchanged a glance with Vax, who gave him a shrug before wincing as Vex elbowed him in the ribs.

 “I don’t…” He took a shaky breath. “…thank you.”

“You’re welcome?” Vex said. “I’m sorry, what exactly are you thanking us for?”

 “For caring. For worrying, I suppose, in your own way.”

 “Aw, Perc,” Keyleth said. “Of course we care.”

  “You don’t have to. For all intents and purposes, I’m a stranger.”

 “A stranger who has saved our lives multiple times,” Pike said. 

 “The saving thing does generally help build up trust,” Vex said.

 “Heh.” Percy smiled somewhat crookedly. “I suppose it does.”

“Yeah,” Vax said. “I mean, we don’t talk much, really, but we’ve gotten to know you quite a bit, and you’ve gotten to know us. We fought together and got the shit beaten out of us together, man. I couldn’t give a damn about your past unless it’s going to come up and murder us in our sleep, but if you want to get something off your chest it’d only be right to lend an ear.”

Pike climbed up on the table and sat there, cross-legged, taking Percy’s hands and holding them gently. “We don’t want to be pushy,” she said. “But you’re one of us now. Your problems are our problems.”

He blinked some more. Then he let out a small sigh.

“Alright,” he said. “I understand.” 

“Good,” Pike said, patting his hands a few times.

His smile was all edges. “I— I’m still not comfortable talking about my history. I am sorry for that. Whatever happened, I do not have access to large sums of money. What I gave you, Vex” he said, tilting his head toward her, “is all I have.”

Vex let out a disappointed noise, before smiling sheepishly when Pike turned to give her a look. “That’s fine, darling,” she said. “That’s still a fair sum.”

“I’m glad you think so,” he said. 

“What about your name, then?” Grog said.

 “My name?”

 “Yeah, your name. Is it still just Percy then?”

 “Just Percy will do fine.”

“That’s what you keep saying,” Scanlan said. “But that makes it sound like it’s not your full name.”

 Vax nodded. “Some people name their kids long-ass names to make them sound more pretentious. Those people generally have your stiff sort of accent.”

 “‘Stiff sort of accent?’” he asked, sounding almost offended but mostly amused.

“Yeah. Like the stuffy wealthy asshole nobleman sort of accent.”

“Woah, guys,” Keyleth said. “What happened to ‘we don’t want to be pushy?’”

“We don’t, honestly!” Vax insisted. “We’re just a bit curious, that’s all.”

“That doesn’t mean you’re not being pushy.”

“No, it’s fine,” Percy said. “I suppose I owe you that much, at least, considering all you’ve done for me.”

 “We haven’t done anything you don’t deserve,” Pike said. 

 Percy smiled again, softer this time, then braced himself. “You’re right, my name is not really Percy. It’s…” he took another deep breath.

 “Go on,” Keyleth said encouragingly.

 “…Percival…”

 “Percival,” she said. “That's a good name.”

He grimaced. “Unfortunately, I’m not finished yet.”

 “Oh. Okay.”

 “Starting again… It’s Percival... Fredrickstein…”

 “Yes..?” Pike said.

 “Yeah, don’t keep us in suspense!” Grog said.

Percy rubbed his face like he was psyching himself up.

“Alright, one more time... Percival... Fredrickstein…von Musel… Klossowski de Rolo The Third.”

 “Okay,” Pike said, after a pause. “So… Percival Fredrickstein…von… von…”

 “von Music?” Vex added uncertainly.

“Musel.” Percy bit his lip. “Percival Fredrickstein von Musel Klossowski de Rolo the Third.” He rolled through the syllables as fast he could.

“Wow,” Scanlan remarked. “That’s a really long name.”

Vax whistled. “No kidding." 

“I didn’t even know that ‘De’ was a name,” Grog said. 

“Just Percy’s fine, thank you."

They looked around at each other.  “Percy it is, then,” Scanlan said.

 Pike stood up and pat him on the shoulder. “Thank you for telling us,” she said sincerely.

 Percival stared at her for a while. “…No,” he replied after a long pause. “Thank _you_.” 

 

When they finally got another job opportunity they met up with an older dwarf man with grey streaks in his long beard and a gash across his left eye. He had a worn but welcoming smile when he greeted them all.

“You all are the mercenary group, yes?” he said, gruffly but not unkindly. “I’m Lorn.”

 “Yes, we are,” Vex said. “I’m Vex. This is my brother Vax.”

 “I’m Keyleth,” Keyleth said, waving awkwardly. “Hi!”

 “I’m Pike!”

 “Grog.”

 “I am Tiberius Stormwind, from Draconia!”

 “Scanlan Shorthalt, from not-Draconia.” He pointed to Percy. "Glasses over there is Percival Frankenstein Vladimir Montana something or other.”

 "I think its Tchaikovsky, actually.” Vex said, straight-faced.

 “Thank you all,” Percy said drily. “But Percy is fine.” 

 There was a good-natured _something_ in his expression that wasn’t there before. Scanlan saw it. He knew Pike could see it too. He spotted her happy grin as a bit of what might be mischievousness seeped through his barriers. He wasn't tightrope walking anymore. Just being. Like he was sitting on the edge and kicking his feet out as if he were on a swing.

* * *

He sat there at the edge of the woods for a while, staring at the wooden figure. He should be doing something else, he knows, but his limbs are locked up and his mind is spinning through memories. He sees the shadow of Pike’s smile on its face and thinks of Percy’s trembling hands enclosed in hers. He thinks of all of them laughing at the table, in various states of drunkenness. 

He tells himself:

That’s how the family got together. That’s how their family got together. He’s not quite sure where he fit into everything. He supposes he provided a bit of comic relief, a lighter touch in tone to some of the more heavy brooders of the group. A little bit of song, a little bit of dance. A little bit of fucking around and then you get one Scanlan Shorthalt, barde extraordinaire, even if he hadn’t composed a damn note in years. 

 They didn’t need anything amazing from him. They never really expected anything amazing either. They just needed a laugh, and he was only too happy to oblige, ‘cause most of the time he needed one too. 

He tells himself this and more until the sky turns orange and Kaylie finally finds him. She cross her arms and taps her foot on the ground. 

 “Hey,” she says. “You been here all day?”

 “Yeah!” he says, summoning a cheeriness he isn’t feeling.

 She looked at him for a while, face unreadable ( _she’s so very sharp_ ) before sighing. “Let’s go, then,” she says. A smile slips on easy across his face and they walk together side-by-side.

 On the side away from Kaylie he grips the Pike figure tightly, unwilling to throw it away.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> probably shouldn't have started just when things get busy for me. whoops. sorry.
> 
> on the plus side i'm almost finished with the third part so yay.


	3. Fever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> warning for sickness, canon death

Once, he had a half-completed figure of Vax. He’d planned on making a series, really, after the Pike one turned out so well.

A long time ago, he’d left it lying in the woods and did his best to forget.

 

* * *

 

He wonders if it could have made a difference. All the things left unsaid between them. He likes to think that it doesn’t matter, that what’s done is done. No need to look back. Just move on. But that’s a complicated, twisted little series of lies he tells himself when the knot in his chest gets too tight to ignore.  

He massages his temples, pointedly ignoring the headache beginning to pound behind his eyelids. 

 

* * *

 

Despite his best efforts, it’s become a _thing_. He closes his eyes and he’s back in the past, surrounded by living breathing people who are solid and warm when you touch them. They would be arguing, complaining, bickering, yelling, stressed out beyond belief. They’d be laughing. Shoving each other, leaning on each other, high-fiving each other, pranking each other in easy familiar rhythms. 

Sometimes, he tries rewriting the script. He toys with the scenes that pop into his head. They meet goblins for the first time, and he fights the snarl welling up in his throat. He pushes the swelling emotion back, back until it’s a tight knot behind his sternum, and swallows. A second later he’s throwing around spells and it’s fine, everything’s normal. He’s here now, and that’s what matters.

After everything is taken care of, they settle down for a round of drinks. Conversation lightens the mood, made things jovial and physical, and they commiserate over some of the stupider shit that managed to happen over the course of the last day. He’s making fun with Grog and sharing barbs with Vax but he can’t shake off the feeling of someone watching him. So he looks around, absolutely ready to shout Jenga or whatever the safeword is nowadays, when with a jolt he realizes that it’s only Keyleth, who quickly and overtly averts her gaze as soon as he glances in her direction. 

By now, Vax has caught onto Keyleth’s weirdness. He gives a questioning look to Scanlan, who shrugs in response. 

He leans over. “Did you try to kiss her or something when I wasn’t looking?”

“No, of course not!”

“Then what’s going on, man?”

“I dunno!”

“Well, do you want me to do something about it?”

He internally debates with himself, then gives up. “No, it’s fine. I’ll talk to her myself.”

He gets up and goes over to where Keyleth is sitting. Tiberius watches him curiously as he comes by, to which Scanlan puts on a charming grin. 

“I just have a couple of things I want to run by our druid,” he says. Tiberius tilts his head, but scoots over to give him some room on the bench. 

“Thanks, pal!” he says, sliding into place between the dragonborn and the druid in question, who begins to sink her nails into the edge of her seat nervously. 

Vax, from the opposite side of the table, gives him a thumbs-up. He gives a thumbs-up in return.

“So,” he starts, “is there something on my face?”  
“H-Huh?”

“Is there something on my face? Is there junk stuck between my teeth? I mean, I know I’m a very handsome member of the opposite sex, but this is getting excessive.”

“—Oh!” she exclaimed, hands flying over her mouth. “…I guess it was pretty obvious, huh.”

“You’ve been sneaking glances at me for the last ten minutes. You aren’t exactly the master of subtlety.”

“Sorry,” she says. “It’s just, um…” She makes a face. “You know, when we’d come across that goblin hoard the other day? You looked pretty shaken.”

“…Oh.”

“I know it’s not my business. But, you know, if you ever need to talk, or vent, we’re here.”

We’re here, she says. He sees her head leaning on Percy’s shoulder. Her, pulling on Tiberius’s arm as she laughs and laughs at some silly thing Vax did. The way she’d look admiringly at the twins, how she’d high-five Grog and Pike.

He doesn’t know what should come next. What can come next. Maybe he could tell her everything. Yellow sky and dirty palms. The face of his mother, slowly fading into darkness. Her voice is already slipping away from his mind, even as he tries to hold on. It’s like grasping at air to catch the last strands of music still hanging in space. Her deep operatic voice, the smell of wood and soap stuck to her clothes, the roughness of her fingers brushing the hair from his eyes. It’ll all be gone soon. Thrown into the wind.

“…Thanks, but I’m good,” he says instead. “Just had a bad experience once, that’s all.”

 

* * *

 

He’s been feeling rather under the weather recently. His head would feel foggy, like he’d been stuffed with dark smoke, and there was something sloshing around that would spill if he tilted too much to one side. He blames it on the restless nights, the regrets and could-have-beens that bubble up once the day’s done.

 And he used to be so good with this whole ignore-stuff-until-they-go-away thing. 

But it’s alright. He manages to find a few odd-jobs here and there, charm a few people as they travel from town to town. He’s decided that he needs to be responsible. For Kaylie. He can’t space out all day, not when he has someone to support. If he works hard enough, the heaviness that follows him almost becomes bearable. 

He tries to imagine what it would’ve been like if he’d met Kaylie earlier. He would be younger, more restless. He’d be shocked still when the news is broken to him, eyes probably growing comically wide, but he’d immediately jump into her life. Their lives. (God, Sybil is a person who exists. Who he needs to talk to. God help him.) He’d be that father he never was. 

That’s as far as he gets. Because to be that father, he’d have to give up on the adventures. And he’d give it all up, he _did_ give it all up, if it meant making amends for his shitty mistakes, but there was a point in his life where he would’ve been too afraid to look his daughter in the eye.

As it is, he’s terrified.

 

* * *

 

Kaylie took her sweet time trying to kill him. To be honest, he would have probably admire the theatricality, if he hadn’t completely shut down. Because his daughter was glaring at him with smoldering almond-shaped eyes that didn’t look anything like his, because he was desperately searching through years worth of empty days for faces that never registered with him to begin with, as he heard Vax’s exasperated voice in the back of his head saying, _well, you’ve fucked up now._

What the hell could he say?

He was there when Vex spat fire at her father, when her brother murdered him with his glare. And he didn’t understand then, because his only real family was his mother, who laughed at his jokes and sung gentle lullabies until he fell asleep, who has been and will always be dead and gone. But Kaylie’s almond eyes stared down at him behind her bared knife, and they almost shimmered with a hard metallic light, and only then did he realize just how much hate family could hold.

He was stupid, thinking that he could fool around whenever he felt off his game. That he could enter and exist relationships and leave nothing behind. He should’ve known. At least he should’ve bothered to check.  

So he didn’t say anything, as Kaylie burned. He bared his chest and admitted that he was a awful person, sorry, I guess I can’t disappoint you if you already despise me, and he closed his eyes and waited for a blow that never came.

Somehow, that was worse. She gave him a hug, and before he could figure out what fathers were supposed to do in that situation she was gone. 

That night, he couldn’t sleep, so he went out to get some fresh air. He thought about making a statue of Kaylie, like the one he’d made for Pike. He could see it right in front of him, her scowl, the hardness of her expression. He could almost feel the knife handle beneath his fingers, the hours that’d pass as he sat there absorbed in his task. He could carve a promise, a wish, a hope, an apology into the wood. 

Maybe he could write her a song. He hadn’t done it in a while, but music was second-nature to him. He could compose the faintest wisps of melody from the softness of her hair, the cold discordance of the glint in her eye. 

He didn’t do any of that, of course. He only sat under the night sky, watching the trees shiver in the chilly wind.

 

* * *

 

“I can’t believe it,” Keyleth slurred, leaning on a half-asleep Percy. “I just can’t beliiiieeeeve it.”

“Believe what exactly?” Scanlan asked, one arm propping his head up from the table. He stared into his mug, watching the liquid swirl.

Keyleth giggled. “You’re—" hiccup “—haha, you’re a dad, Scanlan! A dad!”

“One might even say,” Percy said, slowly, “…a Dadlan,”

“Oh my god that is perfect.” Keyleth dissolved into a laughing fit. “Dadlan! Dadlan! He’s a Dadlan!” 

“I regret so many things right now,” Percy said, taking another swig of his drink. “I can’t believe I just said that.”

“To think, I thought you were the reasonable one.”

“I am!” he said, almost slamming down his glass in his incredulity. “You all have been a terrible influence.” 

“You should take responsibility for your actions, Percival. Nobody forced you to do anything”

Percy squinted, and whoops, he probably should’ve watched his tone a bit more, but he was drunk and Percy was drunk, even if he wore it better than all the rest, and Scanlan didn’t think the kid would catch the edge in his voice. He himself was a bit surprised by it, mostly because he wasn’t expecting it. He didn’t really mean anything by it. He isn’t sure why it came out that way. But words have a life to themselves sometimes. He knew that better than anyone.

Anyway, Percy squinted and squinted, and Scanlan — unable to think of anything else — just squinted right back, until Keyleth hiccuped again and asked, “Are you guyyyyys having a staring contest? Percy’s gonna wiin. He’s very good at staring. He has very pretty eyes.”

“Thank you Keyleth,” Percy said, still looking at him like he couldn’t quite see him clearly through his glasses. “I think it’s time you go to bed now, hmm?”

“Urrroo, I’m fine!” she said. “I’m fiiiine. Totally not drunk.”

“No, you’re not,” Percy said. “Come on, let’s get you to bed.”

“Beeeeeed.” she said, standing up wobbly. Percy went over so that she could lean on him before looking over his shoulder at Scanlan.

“You coming?” he asked, to which Scanlan shook his head.

“No, I’m good. I’m going to stay a little while longer.”

“…Alright,” he said. “Let’s go, Kiki.”

“Still not drunk!” she yelled, tipping over sideways. Percy caught her before anything too regrettable happened, and led her up the stairs into her room.

He was alone. Scanlan spent the time staring into the mug, before looking up at the ceiling. He thought about the thickness swirling around his head, like the alcohol swirling in his mug. 

A few minutes later, he heard footsteps coming toward his general direction. He somehow pushed his chair far back enough so he could lean over backwards over the edge of his seat and see an upside-down Percy walking over to him. 

“Oi, Percy,” he greeted. “I didn’t think you’d be back.”

“Well,” he said, taking a seat next to him. “I’m back.”

They sat there in silence for a while. Scanlan thought about drinking, but he didn’t trust himself with more alcohol in his system.

“Scanlan,” Percy said suddenly. “I’m sorry.”

“What?”

“For being an arse.”

Scanlan felt his eyebrows raise. “Okay, you need to elaborate.”

“At the prison, when we were breaking out Kaylie. I want to explain that that was purely a strategic move and that I don’t actually think of you in that way.”

He blinked a few times. Memories of a grumpy prison guard, of Dr. Dranzel and Percy and him punching Percy in the face. “Wow. That was a while ago.”

“Yes, well, I meant to apologize that night, but…”

“Yeah.”

Percy sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. He looked so tired, so much older.

“…I am going to confess something to you,” he said, hesitantly.

Scanlan raised both his eyebrows. “Is this where you tell me that you’re in love with Vex?” 

“What? No! I mean, yes. I mean, she is a lovely woman, but I am  _very_ off-limits for anyone decent right now—“

“But I thought we had something real special together,” Scanlan lamented. “You made a bomb for me and everything.”

He opened his mouth and closed it. “Whatever we had, _if it ever even existed,_ it was obliterated the moment you threw my gun into a pool of acid.”

“I was saving your life!”

“That was still _really_ _expensive_. But no, we’re getting off-topic.” 

“That was the point,” Scanlan said.

Percy let out an amused huff. “You’re almost worse than Vax.” He grabbed a bottle of Courage and poured himself another glass.

“Okay,” Scanlan said. “It’s late, you’re drunk, I’m drunk, so I’ll bite. What’s this confession of yours?”

“Just a moment,” he said, before downing the shot. “Ahh, that’s better.”

Scanlan waited until Percy’d settled down a bit. He could see his nervous tics in his hands and his face. 

“…Alright,” Percy said, tone significantly softer. “I just… these last few weeks have been so very _odd_.”

“Well,” Scanlan said, shrugging. “They had vampires, hordes of undead, dragons and the end of the world. Other than that, though, things went swimmingly.”

He chuckled. “Oh, swimmingly, yes. However, that was not what I was referring to.” He looked down at the table, as if he were tracing each swirling pattern on the wood. “…I've been thinking about I have family again.”

“Oh.” Scanlan grinned, ignoring the sudden pang in his chest. “Good for you, Percy. Cassandra seems like a good girl.”

“Cassandra?” he said, smiling. “Oh, no. I am so, so glad that she is alive, but I’m not talking about her. I am talking about you all.”

“ _Us_?” 

“Yes,” he said. “I… I dragged you into the Briarwoods. Into Whitestone. You all risked your lives. You all didn’t need to get yourselves involved. But you did. For me. You all reached out to me. I am impossibly grateful for that. I didn’t— Well. I’d been trying to avoid the word for a long time, ever since I… lost them, but.” He took a deep breath. “…I’ve regained family. I’ve let myself have family again.”

He poured another drink. “After— after the Briarwoods, I thought— I thought I was alone. I’m not. I have Cass. She is alive and well and so very strong. But even before then, I was— I wasn’t alone. You all made sure of that. And oh, how you did. Having a family again… I never thought that was possible. Yet here I am.”

He looked at Scanlan straight in the eye. “I… understand, that reunion is always much more awkward than you’d expect. Trust me, I am _quite_ aware of that. But I was told a long time ago that Vox Machina will always be here for me. They’re here for you as well.”

Silence. Then Scanlan let out a deep sigh. 

“I don’t deserve her,” he said without thinking.

Percy shrugged. “And I don’t deserve you. I don’t deserve any of you. Funny how these things work."

“Funny, huh.”

“Look on the bright side. There is very little chance that Kaylie will be brainwashed into working for your worst enemies.”

“Heh. If you’ve jinxed this, Percival Fredrick something or other…"

"If I’ve jinxed this… you have my full permission to throw one of my other guns into a pool of acid.”

“Deal,” he said, finally finishing his drink. 

 

* * *

 

But none of that happened. This was Percy, who is very repressed and hates confrontation unless it’s with people who can kill you with a wave of their hand because he’s just that kind of guy. This was Scanlan, who jokes and makes fun but doesn't take himself too seriously, who won't take himself too seriously.

 _They’re here for him._ That’s what they keep telling him. They tell him that they’re here for him even when he’s up and gone and it’s all useless now, because he’s made his choice and he’s not backing out. He can't back out. Not now.

 

* * *

 

He tries to figure out where it all went wrong. The conversations he never had, the songs he never wrote, the statues left unfinished at the bottom of his bag. Maybe it was the Conclave and Tiberius laying lifeless in the ruined wreck of his library. Maybe it was Whitestone, and all the vampires and undead and Percy’s endless burning anger. Maybe it was going to end this way from the very start, he and Vax and Vex and their impossibly bad luck. 

Maybe it’s just him. He isn’t strong like the rest of them. They save the world and later laugh about it over a round of drinks. He can’t even save his mum from a couple of goblins. 

 

* * *

 

Pike lay lifeless on the floor. Vex screamed and shot three arrows which landed deep into the monster’s chest. It staggered, growling. Scanlan was already running, he was dropping to his knees and desperately trying to stop the bleeding with his hands. 

“No no no no no,” he heard himself say. “Pike don’t die don’t die on me don’t die on _us—_ ” and he felt the magic pulsate with his words. 

But there was nothing.

They had to go to the temple. Scanlan placed her statue on her chest and sat on the cool stone floor and kissed her cold brow. He could have told her he loved her, but he’d worn out the sentiment through overuse. Instead he told her— he doesn’t remember. Did he tell her about his mother? About the goblins, the invasion? Did he say that they needed her? That she was

He doesn’t remember, but whatever he did worked: A shuddering gasp, and Pike Trickfoot's chest was heaving. He might have laughed, high-pitched and borderline hysteric, as Keyleth burst into happy tears. 

“W-wha," Pike said, holding her head with one hand, looking up at him in bewilderment. "What happened? Are we okay? Did we win? Urk... Grog I can't breathe.”

“Oh. Sorry.” Grog let Pike out of his bone-crushing hug.

Scanlan would’ve hugged her, too, and added to the gesture kisses and sudden profuse declarations of love (he was already writing the script in his head) but then Vax came up out of nowhere and almost swallowed her up in his cloak. "Don't ever do that again," he half-whispered into her hair, and what could he say after that?

For a while after, every time he closed his eyes he saw her body broken on the ground. But when he opened them she was fine. He could almost convince himself that she hadn’t died at all, if it weren’t for the whiteness of her hair.

 

* * *

 

Out of everyone, he thinks of Tiberius. He’s asking him a question, and he remembers this conversation. It went like, “Tiberius, are you scared of anything?” 

The dragonborn turned to him with a frown. “What? Yes, of course. Why do you ask?”

“Well, you know. You’re very self-assured. You could stare down an actual demon from hell and not look away until it’s dead. How do you do it?”

“I personally think that you are quite composed in many of the troubles we face. When you are not vomiting or wetting yourself, that is.”

“Well,” he said, “I have my own tricks. But that’s what they are: tricks. You seem genuinely unafraid of large deadly things that want to kill you. You face them head-on. How do you do it?”

“Hmm.” He scratched his chin with the tip of his staff. “I must admit, I never thought of myself in that light. I may need a minute to think about it.”

“Go right ahead. It’s not easy to leave you speechless.”

“Hmph. I wouldn’t go _that_ far.”

He stayed like that for a while, deep in thought, claws tapping against his cheek (is that what you call on a dragon?). Finally, he said, “I am afraid of death. I fight hard against my enemies, because I do not want to die.”

“ _Really_?”

“Yes. Is that so surprising?”

“I mean, for a guy afraid of death you sure get into a lot of fights.”

“Were I to submit to those who treat me or others unjustly, then that too is a sort of death.”

“I mean, if you look at it metaphorically. Speaking from a physical perspective, dying is a bit of a different beast than, you know, compromising your values now and again.”

“That’s where we differ. For me, if I do not act, I am rejecting a fundamental part of who I am. I am not willing to compromise who I am for the benefit of a villain or a scoundrel.”

“See, that sounds to me that you’re less afraid of death and more afraid of becoming someone you’re not. But, you know, people change. Sometimes, it’s for the better.”

Tiberius scowled. “I am well aware that people change. It is not change I am afraid of.”

“Then what?”

He swished his tail. “I am afraid of death. I do not want to die. But more than that, I suppose, I do not want to be forgotten. I want to remain me.”

Scanlan rubbed his palms together. Tiberius stood there, waiting.

“Well,” he finally said. “I can’t say that you won’t die. That’s be a lie too big even for me, especially in our line of business. But, you know, as long as we live, we won’t forget you. We couldn’t even if you wanted to. So you don’t need to worry about that. You just need to focus on not dying.”

He tilted his head. “On your honor?”

“On my honor, as one member of Vox Machina to another.”

He smiled, more gently than he’d ever seen him do (or ever will). “Thank you.”

Scanlan grinned back. “It’s the least I can do.”

 

* * *

 

He’s dead now. He’s not coming back. Scanlan knows this. But he can never get rid of him, their last goodbyes together replaying in a loop in front of him. He tries to rewrite the script but it ends the same each time. He leaves. They never see him again. 

 

* * *

 

In his dreams he sees Ripley. Sees her heading toward Percy, slowly, like she was moving through molasses. But nothing’s sweet about it: in her eyes there’s death, black cold death like a blade and she’s aiming her gun right at him. He yells at spell at her because he needs to do something and words are the only things he knows but it’s not enough, her guns fires and the bullet lodges itself deep into his chest—-

_Darling, take the mask off_

and Percy does, hands trembling, and they are there for him when he falls. 

— he's dead too, lying crumbled on the floor. Grog’s soul is sucked out of him by a fucking evil sword, and Scanlan thinks that if he made better choices he could have stopped this. Vex worries over her brother, grins uncontrollably as she clasps Zahra’s hands covered in Beholder guts. In the next instance she topples backward, and Vax holds her in his arms in the middle of the Raven Queens realm, pleading in broken whispers for her to come back. She does, strangely enough, and she’s back to worrying and grinning and winking soon enough.

He wants to reach out, trying to grasp her shoulders. He wants to shake her back and forth, make sure that’s she’s real and alive, but his fingers phase straight through her. She’s not there. None of them are. They’re all gone. Or maybe he’s the one who’s missing. A spike of pain shoots through him and he wakes up.

 

* * *

 

His head hurts a fuckton, he’s shivering with a painfully dry throat his vision still blurry with fever dreams. Still, he stumbles out of bed, after after a few moments fumbling with the canteen in his bag he takes a few large gulps of water. That helps, so now he’s lying back in the tent trying not to breathe too loudly because he doesn’t want to wake Kaylie. He throws an arm over his eyes and flinches at Tiberius’s dead body, at Pike sliced almost in half, at Percy’s face shattering like glass into a billion pieces. He’s pretty sure most of those things didn’t happen, that they were just residual images fromwhatever his sick brain cooks ups but his skin crawls all the same.

He breathes in and out, and he’s so cold, he feels the heat sapping from his body. Although, shouldn’t it be the other way around? Heat radiates from his body, which is why he feels cold. That’s good, that’s a big difference from being encased in ice. Then the cold seeps into your body instead, deep into your bones, so that eventually you’d shatter if you get hit at a bad spot. Feeling goes away, and then there’s blackness. There’s nothing at all. 

 

* * *

 

The first time he died, he couldn’t breathe. One minute he’s doubled over coughing, and it really really hurts. The next he knows there’s a blast of blistering cold and the burn in his throat and lungs only become worse, he can feel them harden and he can’t move or breathe and oh, _I am so sorry Kaylie._ Then there was blackness. Blackness, and a cold that dug itself deep into his bones. 

He came back up gasping, shivering, his throat and lungs burning like hell. He watched the volcanic smoke rising from the rocky ground, wincing at the light. Pike held him. It was his first time in her arms, and Scanlan was almost amused at the role change, the sense of dejá vu that washed over him. It was enough to get him to smile, even as he felt his lips crack at the movement.

_Hey, there. Don’t cry. I’m just a little cold._

It wasn’t a lie. But no matter how hard she rubbed his arms, his shoulders, there was a numbness to everything, like his sense of touch was left behind in his trip to the land of the dead. It’s almost like he wasn’t even there, that he was just a hunk of flesh that somehow managed to get up and walk and talk. He tried to shake it off with a laugh and a joke, and that was enough to get the rest of the team off his scent. He kept the feeling locked up behind his sternum, and if he shut his eyes tight enough he could pretend it wasn’t there.

The second time he woke from death, he woke up numb. That pit in his chest had grown bigger. They were laughing at something, and instinctively he tried to laugh with them. It didn’t work. He couldn’t even get his lips to move. It was like he was frozen again. He groaned instead, and as feeling slowly settled into his appendages, into his body, he realized that his hands were tied to the bedstead, that his arms felt sore and stiff from it’s unnatural position all night.

He should be mad. Or he should laugh. But there’s nothing. Not even a hint of levity. Wow, he thought. This is very uncharacteristic of him. What the fuck is going on?

Then Kaylie walked into that room, and _there_ it was. A hot and writhing spark of anger. He holds onto it, and it warms him up.

Later, he had collapsed on the ground. He watched at his daughter, who was setting up a tent for them to stay in, who had somehow managed to tell that he needed to just stop for a bit. She looked back at one point, and he couldn’t tell what she was thinking. Maybe it was a guarded curiosity, like she was not prepared to deal with this today but she was vaguely interested in how it would turn out. Maybe that was just him hoping.

He wondered what the fuck he’d done.

 

* * *

 

He couldn’t seem get enough air. He could feel his heartbeat in his ear. _thump. thump._ It hurts, like his heart was pumping fire rather than blood. Voices, vague and distorted, increasing and decreasing in volume sporadically. He thinks he hears Pike. Her voice, soft and soothing. Something cold presses against his forehead.

“Honestly,” he hears distantly. “You’ve fought dragons and goliaths and beholders, but a cold is what gets you down?”

His eyelids are basically crusted together, but for a second he could see Kaylie’s exasperated expression, as she rolls her eyes. Then she morphs back into Pike, who with a gentle smile whispers spells that glow with soothing white light. A callused hand cups his cheek, and he looks up and grins at his mother, whose face is already half-covered by the evening shadow. 

By then he’s already asleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (our boy is back you guys)
> 
>  
> 
> was dealing with my own sudden sickness but now i'm good so i'm updating this baby. 
> 
> have a good life all of you.

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written anything in years, then this group of nerdy voice actors come along and I am addicted. So here's a vignette-y short story of around five chapters. Apologies in advance for any messed-up lore or strange character interpretations. 
> 
> I missed writing. Hope you like it.


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